


Oh Love (i will let you go)

by sparxwrites



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Study, F/M, Feelings, Light Angst, Love at First Sight, Slice of Life, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 20:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9675941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: Vax meets her under the neon lights of the Cloudtop district, the preferred nighttime haunt of Emon’s rich and famous – and even there, under the blues and greens and reds of a hundred fluorescent signs, she's bright enough he almost fears a touch from her wouldburn.(In which, in another world, Vax and Keyleth meet for the briefest of moments, in the strangest of circumstances, and feelsomething.)





	

Vax meets her under the neon lights of the Cloudtop district, the preferred nighttime haunt of Emon’s rich and famous – and even there, under the blues and greens and reds of a hundred fluorescent signs, she's bright enough he almost fears a touch from her would _burn_.

It's obvious she belongs here, despite her drunken unsteadiness, how clumsy she is in her designer heels. She has the posture of near-royalty, and the clothes to match, with the kind of half-eccentricity to them that only the wealthy can get away with. She’s all green and gold, the colour of sunlight through spring leaves – a scrap of a dress in deep emerald, the hem well above mid-thigh, and glittering jewellery at her wrists and ears and neck – other than her hair, a thick halo of tightly-curled fire about her head.

It’s just as obvious that _he_ doesn’t belong here. This district is for designer jeans and Rolexes and loafers, and here he is, charity shop leather jacket and stolen surplus combat boots and all. He hopes he looks rugged, edgy, _mysterious_ in his grubby grunge-hipster clothing.

He knows, instead, that his cheap clothes and his lurking and the dusty-brown of his skin likely marks him _troublemaker_ in the eyes of anyone who cares to notice him, skulking in an alley just off the main strip.

And, well. It’s not exactly like they’d be _wrong_ , either.

He watches her, for a moment or two, stumbling down the pavement towards the alley he’s tucked into, all long limbs and none of the coordination required to use them with elegance. Though there are still a scant few people roaming the streets – a couple here, a group of rowdy barely-legals there, an older man with a woman young enough to be his daughter hanging off his arm – she seems to be on her own, making her own, dizzy path down the pavement.

She’s the perfect mark.

 _She’s perfect_.

It would be easy, _so easy_. He knows this drill by heart, now – knock into her, casual-like, watch her fall, help her up, slip some of those rings and loose, jangling bangles off her hands as he feigns politeness and apologises profusely. She likely wouldn’t even notice til the next morning, when she woke up after passing out face-down on her memory-foam mattress. It’s not like she’d _miss_ them, after all, a ring or two, a bracelet or two, when she’s got so many, so much _money_ , to spare.

For Vax, though, for him and his sister and their dog, it could be _everything_. Could be the difference between another week’s gas in their campervan and food in their stomachs… or having to crawl back to their shithead of a father, and throw themselves on his tender mercies.

She takes a step closer, two, and Vax knows he’s got to decide _now_ , to act, to make his choice – step out, or let her go. Feed his sister, or find another mark.

Burn, or not.

He steps out of the alley in a practiced motion, two long strides that put him in her path without even needing to look. He’s done this enough times now he could do it with his eyes closed, do it in his sleep – and besides, she’s hardly a difficult mark, drunk enough she looks close to falling even without his interference.

He almost feels a little _bad_ , as though he’s taking advantage somehow – but empathy pays nothing, and a bleeding heart won’t put food on the table, so he grits his teeth, ignores his conscience, and trips her.

She goes down, as expected, though a little harder than intended. He winces, internally, even as externally he schools his expression into one of alarm and surprise, and starts babbling apologies at her as she sits shocked and splay-legged, a little dazed, on the pavement. “Ah, shit, I’m so sorry- wasn’t looking where I was going,” he says, the lie rolling easily off his tongue as he holds out a hand to her, offering to help her up, the very model of a concerned citizen. “You okay?”

She blinks up at him, wide-eyed and a little confused for a moment, and then her gaze sharpens suddenly into one of radiant, rather drunken, delight. “Oh!” she exclaims, loud enough to draw curious glances from a scant few passers-by even over the thumping base of the nearby clubs, the roar of a passing car. Her smile is bright, and clean, and reaches her eyes with such ease he thinks it must be automatic for her to smile with her whole body even whilst sober. It makes his heart ache, just a little. “You’re a- a real _gentleman_! Oh, you’re so nice, thank you so much, I’m so sorry for being so clumsy, I’ve not even had that much to drink, I swear-”

Her touch does not burn, when she takes his hand, but he feels fire across his skin nonetheless.

She sways into him as he helps her back up, dizzy from the height of being upright – she’s a full head taller than him, he realises, and her heels are barely an inch and a half – and presses a kiss to his cheek, unbidden. Her lips are soft against his stubble, free of the usual tackiness of lip-gloss or lipstick, and she smells of sweat and other people’s perfume and the sweet, oily heaviness of good-quality weed.

Vax wonders – unbidden, as her cheek presses against his and puts the long, dark length of her neck, spattered with still-darker freckles, dangerously close to his mouth – if he’s ever wanted anything more in his _entire fucking life_.

“Hey, Kashaw!” she calls, too-loud, and he recoils from the sound before he can give into the urge to lean forward, suck a bruise into the proffered skin, catch her earlobe between his teeth and _tug_ , consume her whole to sate the sudden hunger that’s turned his chest into a gaping _maw_. “Kashaw, I found a- a _gentleman_!”

He turns to look over his shoulder, abrupt and a little panicked at the thought of eyewitnesses – perhaps rather more sober and rather less clumsy than his mark – and realises she’s not as alone as he’d initially assumed. There’s an ordinary-looking man and an extraordinary-looking woman just a few meters ahead of them on the pavement, watching the scene with crossed arms and amusement respectively.

“You certainly did,” mutters the man – Kashaw? – dryly, one eyebrow arched in silent disbelief and suspicion. Vax’s mouth is suddenly, inexplicably dry, and he silently thanks whatever deity is listening for alerting him to their presence before he took anything. “Congrats, Kiki. I’m fucking _delighted_ for you.”

He’s more constrained in his fashion choices than the woman at his side, who’s dressed in leather and latex and high heels, as though she’s just stepped out of the basement of a particularly high-end fetish club. Hell, for all Vax knows, she might have. There’s enough of them around this particular strip, Vax knows – not that he’s ever been _in_ one. They’re a little outside his price range, and he’s never quite had the balls to try and sneak into one.

But Kashaw’s dressed sensibly enough, _normally_ , in tight jeans and a crisp shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off thick, well-muscled arms, and an expensive-looking watch. Vax can’t help but swallow, involuntarily, at the sight. The backs of his forearms, though, are crosshatched with more fine, pale scars than Vax has ever seen in one place before – an impressive feat, given the state of his own inner thighs.

“Say thank you to the _gentleman_ for catching you, Keyleth, darling, and then let’s be on our way now,” says the woman, smacking Kashaw on the arm and studiously ignoring the glower he throws her way with an air that speaks of long practice and familiarity. “Come on, or it’ll be sunrise before we get back, and _I_ , for one, value my beauty sleep – not that I _need_ it, of course,” she adds, with a smirk, glancing sideways at Kashaw and raising her eyebrows.

He ignores her, but Keyleth doesn’t. Instead, she hesitates, glancing between the woman and Vax, eyes wide and rimmed dark with slightly smudged mascara. “But, Zahra-” she starts, voice whining, lower lip stuck out in a pout – and then sighs. “Fine, _fine_ , but I don’t- dunno why you always ruin all my _fun_.” She pulls herself up, a little, where she’d been leaning against him, straightening up as much as she can on her wobbling heels-

And leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for catching me, _gentleman_. Call me!” she says, in a stage whisper, before pulling away.

This time, her touch _does_ burn, a wildfire through his whole damn body.

Her hand’s in his, and this – this is his chance, his _last chance_. Slip a ring off now, risk going for a bangle or two, grab a necklace and run. Pull her in and kiss her lips, until they turn red and wet and swollen, and _devour_ her, the softness and sweetness of her, the _brilliance_ of her. Breathe her in, until whatever flame lights her from inside turns his dead chest as warm and bright as hers-

He lets go.

She’s disappeared from view, around a corner and out of sight, before Vax remembers he doesn’t _have_ her number – that she’s left nothing but neon and perfume behind her, and the memory of red and gold burned bright into the insides of his eyelids.

He lets her go.

**Author's Note:**

> uni’s been kicking my ass recently - i'm in the final term of my final year, so there’s a lot going on - but i managed to get a little something out, anyways. inspired by both the song “[real](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H3T2RnTBp_4)” by years & years and its music video, which is also where the title is taken from.
> 
> come find me @sparxwrites on tumblr for more aesthetic nonsense (and possibly not much fic, until my dissertation is done).


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